Harry Turtledove - The Scepter's return

People went right on making much of his father and Lanius. Nobody paid any attention to him. He might as well not have existed. His father probably would have been happier if he didn't.

Well, he still had some friends, anyhow. Times like this showed him who they were. A guard captain named Serinus came up to him and said, "Pretty fancy show — if you like that kind of thing, anyway."

Ortalis made a face. "Just between you and me, I could live without it."

"I'll bet you could, Your Highness," Serinus said sympathetically. "Did they ever give you the attention you deserve? Doesn't look that way, not to me. Hardly seems right."

"Sure doesn't." Another friend of Ortalis', a lieutenant named Gygis, came up in time to hear Serinus finish.

"Question is, what can we do about it?" Ortalis said. The three of them put their heads together.

King Grus sat on the Diamond Throne, the Scepter of Mercy in his right hand. When he rested his arm on the arm of the throne, the base of the Scepter fit perfectly into a small depression there. He smiled to himself. He'd noticed that depression before, but he'd never really thought about why the throne had it.

Up the central aisle of the throne room toward him came a big, burly Therving named Grimoald. He had a hard, ruddy face, a thick, graying tawny beard, and graying tawny hair tied back in a braid that was not the least bit effeminate. Coupled with the wolfskin jacket he wore, he looked almost as much like a beast as a man.

The royal guardsmen in front of the throne must have thought the same thing, for they bristled like dogs scenting a wolf. Grimoald, however, affected not to notice that. He bowed low before Grus. In good if gutturally accented Avornan, he said, "Your Majesty, I bring you greetings and congratulations from my master, King Berto of Thervingia."

"I am always happy to have King Berto's greetings, and I send him my own," Grus replied. "I am also happy that his kingdom and mine have lived side by side in peace for so long, and I hope they go on living in peace for many years to come."

He meant every word of that. Berto's father had come much too close to conquering Avornis. King Dagipert had also almost succeeded in marrying Lanius to his daughter, which would have left him the dominant influence in the kingdom and his grandson, if he had one, probably King of both Avornis and Thervingia. Berto, however, was peaceable and pious by nature — proof, if proof was needed, that sons often differed greatly from their fathers.

Berto's ambassador bowed again. "You are gracious, Your Majesty. My sovereign sent me here as soon as word reached him that the Scepter of Mercy had come back to the city of Avornis after its, ah, long absence. I see the news was true." He stared at the Scepter with poorly disguised wonder. His eyes were blue, though not nearly as blue as the gem topping the talisman.

"Yes, it is true," Grus agreed. "King Lanius and I both did everything we could to bring the Scepter out of Yozgat. Between us, we managed." He might have bragged of his own accomplishments. He might have, yes, if he hadn't been holding the Scepter of Mercy. It didn't approve of boasting, at least not about matters involving it.

Even his modesty was plenty to impress Grimoald. "His Majesty, King Berto, has a favor to ask of you, if your kindness stretches so far," the Therving said.

"I would hear it first," Grus said. He was glad to find the Scepter didn't keep him from being normally cautious.

"Of course," the envoy said. "My king wonders whether he would be welcome if he made a pilgrimage here to see the Scepter of Mercy with his own eyes."

"He would be very welcome," Grus said, not hesitating for even a moment. "Nothing would make me happier than entertaining him here. King Lanius has met him, I believe. I have not had the privilege, though I did meet his father." They'd tried to kill each other, too, but he didn't mention that.

Grimoald's eyes glinted. He was old enough to remember the days when Thervingia and Avornis fought war after war. Maybe he longed for those days. Grus wouldn't have been surprised if a lot of Thervings did; they had always been a fierce folk, and it would likely take more than the reign of one peaceable king to make them anything else. But they hadn't risen against Berto, not once in all the years since he succeeded Dagipert.

Whatever Grimoald's opinion of days gone by might have been, he made a good, solid diplomat. Bowing to Grus once more, he said, "I shall convey your generous invitation to His Majesty. I am sure he will be eager to make the journey."

"Good," Grus said. "And of course there will be gifts for an envoy on such welcome business."

Grimoald bowed yet again. "You are much too kind, Your Majesty. I expected nothing of the kind."

"Well, whether you expected it or not, it's my pleasure," Grus said. Gifts for ambassadors were commonplace — as Grimoald no doubt knew perfectly well. Elaborate custom regulated the ones between the Chernagor city-states and Avornis. Arrangements with Thervingia were less formal, which meant Grus could be more lavish if he chose. Here, he did choose. Grimoald struck him as an able man, one he wanted well disposed toward him and toward his kingdom.

The Therving said, "You can be sure I will do everything I can to make Avornis appear in the best possible light." He understood why Grus was giving him presents, then. Good.

After Grimoald had made his final bows and left the throne room, Grus descended from the Diamond Throne. "A King of Thervingia visiting here?" said one of his guardsmen, a veteran — the soldier was perhaps forty-five, not far from Grimoald's age. "Not hardly like it was in the old days, and that's the truth. If Dagipert had, ah, visited here, he would've torn the palace down around our ears."

"Yes, the same thing crossed my mind," Grus answered. "And do you know what else? I'll bet it crossed Grimoald's, too. He had that look in his eye."

"D'you think so?" the guardsman said. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised. I wonder if we tried to murder each other, him and me, back when Berto's old man sat on their throne."

"It could be," Grus said. "Here's one more thing, though." He paused. The royal guardsman nodded expectantly. Grus continued, "It's better this way." The guardsman nodded again, this time in complete agreement.

Lanius approached the Scepter of Mercy furtively, almost as though he were sneaking up on it. He wasn't really, of course.

He couldn't, not when so many guardsmen watched it all the time. No one was going to make off with it again, not if the two Kings of Avornis had anything to say about it.

The guardsmen bowed and saluted their sovereign. Lanius nodded back, trying to hide his apprehension. He closed his hand on the Scepter and lifted. Up it came from the velvet cushion on which it rested. Lanius breathed a silent sigh of relief and set it down again.

"That's a marvelous thing, Your Majesty," a guard said.

"Yes, isn't it?" Lanius agreed. He didn't tell the guardsman — he didn't intend to tell anyone — the Scepter had let him pick it up even though he'd sneaked a serving girl into the archives. Whatever it expected of Kings of Avornis, it didn't insist on sainthood. He hadn't been sure. Had things turned out the other way, he would have been as penitent as he could — and he would have put the maidservant aside. Maybe that would have been enough. He could hope so, anyway.

"Is it really true that one of your moncats stole the Scepter out of Yozgat?" the guardsman asked.

"It's really true," Lanius said solemnly. "And if you don't believe me, you can ask Pouncer."

The soldier started to nod, then stopped and sent him a look somewhere between quizzical and aggrieved. Lanius smiled to himself as he went on his way. He didn't want people taking him for granted.